Lady Chatterley's Lover

of her life and she gave it to him. But she wanted a good deal from the life of a man, and this Clifford did not give her; could not. There were occasional spasms of Michaelis. But, as she knew

y, even though he always

perience. There's lots of good fish in the sea...maybe...but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herri

e him. Connie nearly always had somebody at Wragby. But if they weren't

ere was Tommy Dukes, who had remained in the army, and was a Brigadier-General. `The arm

the young intellectuals of the day. They all believed in the life of the mind. What you did apart from that was your private affair, and didn't much

her you love your wife, or if you have `affairs'. All these matters concern only th

t there is no point to it. Strictly there is no problem. We don't want to follow a man into the w.c., so why should we want to follow him into bed with a woman? And therein

e to Julia, you begin to simmer; and if he goes on, you

to urinate in a corner of my drawing-roo

d if he made love to Julia

he had flirted a very little with Juli

thing between me and Julia; and of course I

is enormously overdeveloped. All our individuality has run that way. And of course men like you think you'll get through better with a woman's backing. That's why you're so jealous. That's what sex is to you...a vital little dynamo between you and Julia, to bring success. If you began to be unsuccessful you'd begin to flirt, like Charlie, who isn't successful. Married people like you and Julia have labels on you, like travell

of the integrity of his mind, and of his not being

g...even to be free to think you must have a certain amount of money, or your stomach stops you. But it seems to me you might leave

lascivious Celt,

eping with her than by dancing with her...or even talking to her about the w

us as the rabbit

they any worse than a neurotic, revolut

abbits, even so,

hat concern me almost more than life or death. Sometimes indigestion interferes with me. Hunger w

rom surfeit would have interfered with you

ver-fuck myself. One has a choice about eating

ll! You c

I be chained in a kennel like a monk? All rot and funk, my boy. I must live and do my calculations. I need women sometimes. I refuse to make a mountain of it, and I refuse

orgiven each other abou

sensations and emotions with women as we do ideas about the weather, and so on. Sex might be a sort of normal physical conversation between a man and a woman. You don't talk to a woman unless you

thing, to go to bed with her. Just as, when you are interested talking to someone, the Only decent thing is to have the talk o

half your force with women. You'll never really do what you should do

u can keep the purity and integrity of your mind, but it's going damned dry. Your pure mi

s burst in

er the women, he's quite free not to run too often. But I wouldn't prohibit him from running. As for Hammond, he's got a property instinct, so naturally the straight road and the narrow gate are right for him. You'll see

h; his ideas were really not vital enough for it, he was too c

ors de combat, I don't see I've

means hors de combat. You've got the life of the m

se marry-and-have-done-with-it would pretty well stand for what I think. Though o

great thing?

macy,' said Clifford, unea

h her to finish it, all in due season. Unfortunately no woman makes any particular start with me, so I go to bed by myself; and am none the worse for it...I hope so,

ntal gentlemen. But she had to be there. They didn't get on so well without her; their ideas didn't flow so freely. Clifford was much more hedgy and nervous, he got cold feet much quicker in Connie's absence, and the talk didn't run. Tommy Duke

emed to get anywhere didn't trouble her deeply. She liked to hear what they had to say, especially when Tommy was there. It was fun. In

ontempt, as a little mongrel arriviste, and uneducated bounder of the worst sort. Mongrel and bounder or not, he jumped

called them privately to herself. She was infinitely amused, and proud too, that even their talking they could not do, without her silent presence. She had an immense respect for thought...and these men, at least, t

ried to put across him. He was really anti-social, which was what Clifford and his cronies had against him. Clifford and

unday evening, when the conver

the tie

indred somethin

p the spiteful things we feel against one another by saying false sugaries. It's a curious thing that the mental life seems to flourish with its roots in spite, ineffable and fathomless spite. Always has been so! Look at Socrates, in Plato, and his bunch round him! The sheer spite of it all, just sheer joy in pulling somebody else to bits...Protagoras, or whoever it was! And Alcibi

ltogether so spiteful,

pontaneous spite to the concocted sugaries; now they are poison; when I begin saying what a fine fellow Clifford is, etc., etc., then poor Clifford i

e honestly like one a

ful things to one another, about one an

al activity a grand start, but he did more than that,' said Charlie May, rather magisterially. The cronies had suc

to be drawn ab

sm and knowledge are not th

, a brown, shy young man, who had called

at him as if the

, and make a deadness. I say all they can do. It is vastly important. My God, the world needs criticizing today...criticizing to death. Therefore let's live the mental life, and glory in our spite, and strip the rotten old show. But, mind you, it's like this: while you live your life, you are in some way an Organic whole with all life. But once you start the

as all stuff to him. Connie

d apples,' said Hammond, ra

ider of ourselve

vism?' put in the brown Berry, a

lie. `What do you th

ake hay of Bolshe

arge question,' said Hammond,

he bourgeois; and what the bourgeois is, isn't quite defined. It is Capitalism, among other things

ial thing. Even an organism is bourgeois: so the ideal must be mechanical. The only thing that is a unit, non-organic, composed of many different, yet equal

r's ideal in a nut-shell; except that he would deny that the driving power was hate. Hate it is, all the same; hate of life itself. J

cal, it rejects the major part

material premiss; so does th

has got down to rock

hevists will have the finest army in the world in a v

his hate business. There must b

orcing one's deepest instincts; our deepest feelings we force according to certain ideas. We drive ourselves with a formula, like a machine. The logical mind

Hammond, `than the Soviet way. The B

en consider our far-famed mental life half-witted. We're all as cold as cretins, we're all as passionless as idiots. We're all of us Bolshevists, only we give it another name. We think we're gods...men like gods!

ng silence came Berry

in love then, To

ellows with swaying waists fucking little jazz girls with small boy buttocks, like two collar studs! Do you mean that sort of love

believe in

d heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, a

got them all

they are real ladies, mind you; and I'm not really intelligent, I'm only a "mental-lifer". It would be wonderful to be intelligent: then one would be alive in all the parts mentioned and unmentionable. The penis rouses his head and says: How do

orld,' said Connie, lifting he

ded to hear nothing. They hated her admittin

ot nice to me What car

'm not going to start forcing myself to it...My God, no! I'll remain as I am, and lead the mental life. It's the only honest thing I can

licated if one stays

is all to